What I'd Do For Quidditch
by sailorcake360
Summary: What would I do for Quidditch? Good question. Well, first I'd go to Hogwarts pretending to be a guy. Then I'd get found out by the fellow Beater, Sirius Black. And then, obviously, I'd trip over banana peels, fall in the lake, get a bludger to the head, and I'd fall in love. So, yes. I would do everything for Quidditch.
1. Prologue

**Um... disclaimer? If I were J.K. Rowling I wouldn't be writing FanFiction about my own books?**

_**Prologue**_

I'd never been allowed to play Quidditch. I love it more than anything else in the whole entire world, and it bugs me that girls aren't allowed to play. But even though witches have more than proved themselves a wizard's equal, if not superior, all through history, it is physically impossible (without the aid of drugs) for teenage girls to be as strong as teenage boys. This is what the headmaster told me in hushed tones; why I would never play Quidditch. At my old school, Capulet's Castle, girls weren't even allowed to try out. I mean, what the heck? You don't have to have any strength at all to be Seeker!

Of course, my argument wouldn't really help me at all - because I'm stupid enough to love the position that needs the most strength.

Perhaps I should introduce myself. Sierra Leonardo, at your service. Your not-so-typical girl who hates being assumed a weakling, gets top grades in everything she does, and balances her life with the Muggle and the magic. I'm half-blood, by the way. One week at my mum's, one week at my dad's - the same way it had always been. My dad was the wizard, by the way. That's how I learned how to play. That's how I learned how to live.

When Dad died, I was left with the hope of someday being the world's best Beater. It was my duty to make him proud. But then, when I attended Capulet's, and was told that I was a girl and girls _simply did not play Quidditch_. But if my dad believed I could do it when I was seven, then I could do it. I _can_ do it, no matter what anyone says. Of course, there is the one tiny problem that to be recognised by an international team, you had to play Quidditch in school. Which sucks, seeing as I'm not a boy, therefore '_inferior_'.

I'm not saying anything against Capulet's Castle. It was the best, honest! Forty-seven students, ten teachers who taught a range of subjects, amazing castle. I learned heaps. The Castle was in the middle of the bush, so not only did we learn all the magic, but we also learned how to survive in the wild if our access to magic was gone. I knew the bush around Capulet's better than the feel of my wand in my hand. The Quidditch pitch was amazing, a clearing at the top of a mountain. I'm not sure what it's called, but we just called it Mt. Mount. I had a couple of friends, Suzie and Meg, who I loved to death. They're alive, thankfully, living in peace at the Castle.

I'm seventh year, seventeen, a senior, whatever you want to call it. Well, almost a seventh-year. It's August, and right now I'm in England, with Aunt Beth. She was my dad's sister. Beth Trinity now lives in a cosy little cottage in the countryside. It overlooks the moor, and whenever I look out the window I feel as if I'm free of judgement and criticism. It's small, but that's fine because aside from me she's the only one that lives there. I'm here because Mum is going on a year-long honeymoon with her newly-wedded husband, Jake. Of course, I did not fit into this plan, so I was dumped here.

I've enrolled into Hogwarts, the wizarding school here. But because this year is my last year, my N.E.W.T. year, my last shot at proving that I can play a game that only boys are allowed to play, I've done something stupid.

On the Hogwarts rolls, I'm Francisco. Francisco Trinity.

Male.

Boy.

If you know me, then you know that this is not my idea. I'm smart. Aunt Beth is dumb, and this is her logic. Oh, who am I kidding? I want to be myself, a Quidditch-playing _girl_, not some random dude. What happens when I take my N.E.W.T.s as Francisco Trinity, then apply for a job or something? They're going to find it a little bit odd that the description doesn't match up. I'm _Sierra_. But, Aunt Beth is also right - I can't just sit around and cheer falsely while I see the Snitch shimmering in the air, right above the Seeker's head, and long to be out there myself. I _need_ to play Quidditch, I need to fly out there with the Beater's bat. I need to whack that Bludger at the other team's Keeper. Knock someone off their broom.

I already know how I'm going to have to look. I've practised the charm. Francisco-Trinity-me looks like a male version of _normal _self. Instead of shoulder-length curly brown hair, it is short. Not in ringlets, but like those superstar curls that girls always drool over. My eyes, a soft green-gold colour, stay the same, and my eyelashes, already long, must make me look slightly odd. I am the same height, as a boy, and I suppose about the same weight. I'd never been fat, and I am always at the peak of my fitness, so transforming my body into a boy's means that I look strong. Of course, changing how I look doesn't change my abilities, so I'm just as I've always been.

There's a catch, of course. A meagre spell won't make me look like a boy for a year. It has to be reapplied every nine hours, or else it'll fade and die. It 'breaks' when touched by water. And, the only part of this that is easy for me - there's a counter-spell. Thank goodness. Gosh, it would be awkward going to the bathroom.

So I hate Aunt Beth. But I know deep down that I'm glad she's done this. Maybe this year I'll have a chance to prove myself.


	2. The Last Compartment

**Disclaimer: I definitely was not born in 1965, therefore I am not J.K. Rowling.**

_**Chapter One - The Last Compartment**_

I wake to the trills of Aunt Beth.

She is a fat woman, to say the least, and although comfortable with her lifestyle, seems regretful that her childhood was spent on the sidelines, watching Quidditch forlornly. Aunt Beth understands my addiction to the game I can't play - she has the same forbidden love with an oversized meal - but she is unrealistic. Fanciful. Dumb. Apart from her size, she has blonde hair that lies flat on her head, and large, round, watery blue eyes. Aunt Beth is a squeaky woman, and that is how I wake.

I had forgotten in my peaceful sleep that today is the first day I spend as a guy. Aunt Beth's shrill "Sierra!"s finally force me out of bed at six o'clock. Five hours to go. I can't help but feel a little bit excited, to go to a new school, even though I won't be going as myself. I get out of bed and serve myself cereal, jumping about as I go. My backpack, magically enlarged and lightened to fit all my possessions, had been packed the night before, I'd gone through the British N.E.W.T. curriculum (way too easy, if you ask me - but then again I'd never had any other responsibilities), and I'd even read up a bit about Hogwarts. At seven in the morning I am bored and can find myself nothing to do. Even my broom is all packed up.

I settle for reading Muggle fiction. I've always loved fiction, but for some reason wizards just... don't read it. Oh, there may be a few books here and there, but they're not as popular as they should be. I pick up an easy book, _The Phantom Tollbooth_, read it, then an hour later I am left with nothing to do again.

Hogwarts is a large wizarding school, by comparison to many others internationally. As a first year, you are sorted into one of four houses - Gryffindor, Slytherin, Hufflepuff, and Ravenclaw - depending on how you think and how you act. You take required classes, then in third year you may also take electives. After O.W.L.s you may finally drop whichever subjects you do not wish to take as N.E.W.T.s. I'm not too worried about the houses - I don't think it'll really matter who I'm sorted to - but what I am worried about is whether or not I will be able to choose the classes I take for the exams. I assume so, but when?

After a few more hours of doing nothing, just feeling bored and annoyed, I cast the spell, and decide it's time to apparate to King's Cross Station. I hug Aunt Beth her thank her for all she has done for me.

"Oh, Sierra, I'm so excited for you!" she says in a girly sort of voice that almost makes me want to roll my eyes. "You look so different as a boy! Remember no one must figure out you're really a girl, and do well in school! Don't miss the tryouts, have you got your broom? Good, good, see you, Sierra!"

"I'll owl you, Aunt Beth, silly."

And then I am gone.

On Platform Nine and Three Quarters, it is cold. It's a drizzly morning, all grey and dull, and I appear to be one of the few people here. The wind is howling around in all the empty space, and the rain is pelting from the sky like bullets. I shiver, in my skimpy Muggle T-shirt and trousers, one of the few items of clothing that I are accepted as unisex. The trousers, not so much, but these days girls are rebelling against the stereotype and expectations. Myself included. I hear a burst of thunder and I can't help but wonder why, why in Merlin's name, is no one around? It's ten!

Of course, I tend to forget that I am impatient. I am an early riser, and always arrive before it's mandatory, but usually that's because I'm bored out of my mind waiting for the time to come. At least the train is here, so I'm not entirely alone. It is a red steam engine that doesn't really run on steam - just magic - and it is huge. I suppose it has to be huge, to cart around five hundred students to a place that is probably miles away from here. I'm only assuming this, of course. I have no idea where Hogwarts really is, but if it takes from eleven to just before dinner to arrive, it is probably a very long way away.

I board the train, backpack slung over my shoulder. It's not heavy and looks next to empty when it's hanging there - perks of being a witch - and I wonder internally if my precious broom is all right. I sit down in an empty compartment (well, they're all empty, but this one is, too) at the back, and wait. This place feels like a ghost town, quiet but for my breathing and the raging weather outside.

Finally at half past ten, I hear voices. The first of the students are arriving. From out the window, I can tell that they are younger, obviously bored of waiting, also. They hurry inside the train, lugging huge trunks, but they don't come down as far as my compartment. I wonder if everyone will bring trunks. Is it weird that I prefer a lightweight, easy-to-carry bag? I hope not. I'll already stand out, being a new student in their last year. And being a girl, underneath the faux boy charm or spell or whatever classifies it.

I whistle to myself, watching the array of students and parents bidding their farewells. Mean ones, short ones, tall ones, scared ones - everyone is so different, but they all seem to fit in nicely together. As the students enter the train, the families wave goodbye. The train is still stationary, but it seems they've come a little bit earlier to avoid the rush.

As it slowly ticks towards eleven, I wonder why I am still the only person who has wandered into this compartment. The one next to this, I can hear, is filled with people, all chatting loudly, having no idea who everyone else is. A bunch of strangers inviting themselves in. Why is no one coming into the one I am in? Is it me, or is it the compartment? Reserved, perhaps, for a teachers, but it seems more likely that they'd be at school already. I decide that because it is going to be a very long train ride, that I should find something interesting to do.

I know it's not the most polite thing to listen in on others' conversations, but the people next door are very loud. I feel sort of miserable listening to them laughing and chattering away, all of different ages, not knowing each other. It seems like there must be at least eight people in there. Why is no one coming in here? I listen into one of the conversations.

"Oh, you know, Bette. Typical Slytherin things," comes a boy's voice.

"Hey, Samuel, I want to be in Slytherin! That's offensive, Bette!" Another boy, probably his first year here.

"Nah, Darrin, you sure about that?" says Samuel.

"Oh, Darrin, don't listen to Sam - he's an idiot. He's always loosing points for Gryffindor by never knowing anything. You'd probably be smarter than him, and you're Muggleborn." A girl this time, younger than Samuel quite clearly, but obviously at least thirteen.

"So he was kidding about the haunted compartment, then?" Darrin asks warily.

The compartment goes silent. I catch my breath. As soon as Darrin had uttered those words, it seemed the conversation had gone beyond the light-hearted chat of Darrin, Bette, and Samuel. The rest of the compartment next to mine seem to be reeled into this, too. I magically amplify their voices so that if anyone were to walk into this compartment (which I doubt) they wouldn't catch me with an ear pressed against the wall. I open a book so that I look innocent, and listen intently to the voices that are going off in my brain.

"Oh, Merlin's beard he wasn't," mutters a voice. "If only he was."

"But, surely, it's not really _haunted_ is it?" Darrin questions, as if he wishes he'd said nothing at all. "Like with ghosts?"

"No, silly." Another person. Obviously in her N.E.W.T. years, but sixth or seventh I can't tell. "Not like that."

"Tell him."

"Okay, Darrin." I can almost feel the suspense coming from the compartment next to mine. "It's like this.

"The Last Compartment didn't used to be haunted. People sat in it and talked, read, practised spells, and generally looked forward to going to school. Going home, it was a place where students hugged and cried, reflected sadly upon their lives at Hogwarts, squealed with joy about the chance, finally, to have a break. Then, one day, eleven years ago, a group of six were doing as they'd always done. Three boys and three girls. One boy was the Quidditch superstar: keeper extraordinaire, fit as a fiddle, always going for runs and swimming in the lake, as well as typical Quidditch training. One girl had the best of the best grades, was like a human prodigy who seemed to know everything. Well, anyway, the lights in the compartment stopped. Naturally, _Lumos_ fixed the problem, and everyone carried on as normal. They didn't notice that the lady with the trolley hadn't come their way. They didn't notice that anything else was wrong.

"Eventually, the smartest one, the girl, of the Last Compartment, figured out that food should be their way. They couldn't hear anything around them, so she went to check if anything was up. But she couldn't open the door. _Alohomora_, everything, they couldn't get the door open. Then the magic flickered out, so they were in pitch black darkness. They all pounded on the door, the window, anywhere they could, but it was no use. Their wands weren't working, and they panicked. I'm not sure how long they were trapped in there, but at Hogsmeade Station, when the Express was checked over, they were freed. The magic worked again.

"Four people came out. The girl, the brightest one, and a boy, the most athletic one, were on the ground in the compartment, unconscious. The girl had brain damage, never to be smart again, and the boy had a spinal injury that made him tetraplegic. Written on the walls, in blood, was the word EQUALITY. No one's sat in there since."

There is a short silence, then

"That sucked."

"Bette! I wasn't that bad, was I?"

"No, you were. Remind me never to let you tell stories around a campfire. Ever. That was stupid. I could've done better."

Darrin breaks up their bickering with his quiet mutter.

"If that's true, why is there a boy sitting in there now?"

For a moment, I wonder, _boy?_ I'm the only one sitting in here! But then I remember that now I am the boy. Not Sierra Leonardo. Francisco - Francisco Trinity. And when that finally sinks in, I realise that I am sitting in a _haunted_ compartment. I can almost see, on the opposite wall, the word 'equality' in all capitals, white like negative space created by some form of magical bleach. I shudder. _Way to go, Sierra_, I tell myself. _Totally inconspicuous._


	3. The Terrible Trio

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

_**Chapter Two - The Terrible Trio**_

When the train finally stops I hurry out of my compartment.

And trip over a banana peel.

Banana peels aren't even normally slippery. But one is in my path, and down I go. I scowl as I hear laughing from behind me, and get up as quickly as I can. When I look around, I see a three kids staring at me, grinning slightly.

"So wee Darrin was right, eh?" says the girl, who must be Bette, ruffling the smallest boy's hair. "A boy was in the Last Compartment."

"Told you, Sam," says Darrin, poking out his tongue at the other boy, who is older, and more muscular.

"Huh," says Samuel, smirking at me. "The boy who braves the Last. Lucky, you are."

It feels odd, listening to them call me a boy. I suppose they're waiting for me to stand up for myself and say something stupid, like, 'I'm actually a man,' but I'm not that dumb. I'm not sure I look the part, anyway.

Bette has brown hair tied up in a high ponytail, and a freckled face. She is slightly shorter than I am, and seems like she has zero upper body strength. Her hazel eyes are looking at me, calculating, as though her brain is working with the motorway. Bette is fourteen-ish, probably starting her fourth year. Samuel is probably my age, maybe younger. Sixteen, most likely. He is muscular, even beneath his robes, and his black hair goes halfway down his neck. He looks at me thoughtfully, also. Darrin, who is grinning and looking between us all with wide eyes, is cute. Short, like a mini version of Bette. I can tell they are related, even by the way they stand next to each other - so comfortably, they must have known each other for their whole lives.

"What do you mean?" I ask, as if I hadn't heard their whole conversation.

Sam rolls his eyes.

"Who are you, anyway?" asks Bette. "I'm fairly certain I haven't seen you before."

"Francisco," I say, even though it feels wrong. _Sierra_, I mentally correct. "Francisco Trinity. You?"

"Samuel Chrysl - but call me Sam," says Sam, looking at me suspiciously.

"Darrin Reeves," pipes up Darrin. "She's Bette. My cousin. We go on adventures down the cliff and explore the-"

"Why are you starting Hogwarts now?" she asks, making Darrin stop mid-sentence.

I feel my gaze leave her face, and now I'm looking at the door. My dad died. My mum is off with my stepfather. I am living with my aunt. Zone rules require that I go to this new, fancy school for my last year of learning - the most important one. I say this as removed as I possibly can, and definitely don't mention that my name is actually Sierra, and, more importantly, that they shouldn't take me at face value. I sound odd with my voice lower (by spell of course), and I hope I don't sound too much like a boy. Bette seems like she regrets being nosy, but I don't mind much. She probably won't ask again.

"You'll have to go with the first-years," Bette snorts. "Take Darrin, will you?"

Bette saunters out of the train, her ponytail swishing around behind her. Sam follows her, shrugging at me to wordlessly indicate that he has no idea what's going on. His face is creased into an apologetic smile. Darrin turns to me, and, confidently, says,

"Don't mind Bette. She's swell once you get to know her. Ah, look! There's Hagrid, Sam's told me all about him."

We walk towards him - a big (emphasis on _big_) beefy man, who is so tall he could have been half-giant or something and I wouldn't be surprised. He has a long bushy black beard and beetle-like eyes. His voice, friendly enough, even though he is shouting, is saying, "First-years! FIRST-YEARS, OVER HERE!"

Darrin says, "That's us," and suddenly we are pulled into the crowd of short people, hovering near Hagrid. When the rest of the crowd has left for the carriages, we follow him down a road towards a jetty, where there are several boats.

"Four teh a boat," Hagrid tells us.

I am with Darrin, and two girls, identical twins, who are holding hands and looking nervously at the water. I mean, they are eleven, and I am a girl, too, but it is actually a bit pathetic how they clench their eyes shut and try to breathe deep as we go over the water. Darrin and I roll our eyes at each other, and I grin. Even though I am seventeen and he is eleven, I think we will be good friends.

The castle itself is amazing. If I loved architecture I would be drooling, at the sight of Hogwarts. Tall towers, intricate details in the stone (if it's even stone), it all makes me want to draw it. Of course, I can't draw, so what would be the point? Still, night is starting to settle in, and the light of the moon shines across the water, making the slight ripples more noticeable. I stare at Hogwarts a while longer, until we are halfway across the lake, and I notice the Quidditch pitch, hoops tall and proud. Now my mouth is watering. I feel a tug in my gut, the need to _fly_, and suddenly I know playing Quidditch as Francisco Trinity instead of Sierra Leonardo will not matter. A girl would never have the same opportunity.

"You play Quidditch, then?" asks Darrin, following my gaze.

"Merlin's beard, yes," I answer, still staring at the pitch.

"I don't play," he says, "but Sam does. He's on the Gryffindor team, Chaser, I think. Oh, but you should hear about the rest of the Gryffindor team! Their Seeker, James Potter, he'll be captain this year..."

And before Darrin can let out all his knowledge about the Gryffindor Quidditch team, we are there. I lift the quaking twins out of our boat, and we are led through the hallways. I look at everything in wonder. Everything seems so... _old_. Magical. Inconvenient and inefficient, but it's magic, and I suppose it's part of the character of the school. We are greeted by a pretty, bespectacled lady with raven black hair and green robes, outside two very large doors. I hear chattering, so I suppose it's like a dining hall or something.

"I am Professor McGonagall, your Transfiguration teacher."

The lady has a very stern voice. She tells us how this ceremony - the sorting ceremony - is going to go. Basically, we walk into the hall and we shall be called up in alphabetical order. When we are called, we shall sit on a stool at the front of the hall and have a talking hat placed on our heads, and it will call out what house we belong to depending on our virtues and how we think. It will call out a house and we should sit at the appropriate table.

We walk into the hall, Darrin and I last of the last. The hat on the stool at the front of the hall catches my eye more than anything else, so I stare at it. And then it sings. The hat is rather good at singing, I must admit, but I am not listening to the words. I am staring at the hat. And the hat seems to be staring back at me. Applause fills the hall and the many students are clapping enthusiastically.

"Bennett, Meg," says Professor McGonagall, and Meg, one of the terrified twins Darrin and I sat with on the boat, hurries up to the stool.

"SLYTHERIN!" shouts the hat, after a moment's pause.

Bennett, Zaria, the other twin scared of the water, is sorted into "GRYFFINDOR!", to surprise. I am counting, keeping tallies of the new students. Eight girls, seven boys, sorted into Slytherin. Six girls, nine boys, into Hufflepuff. Ten girls, five boys, into Ravenclaw. And four girls, three boys, into Gryffindor. It seems that this year, bravery is not the top priority. All of the numbers are from surnames A to Q, and there are three of us left.

"Reeves, Darrin!"

I give Darrin a comforting nudge, and he walks forward. I know he wants Slytherin, but somehow I don't see him as the Slytherin type. Hardly ambitious at all, from my observations. The hat is on his head, grumbling to itself. I smile, as it shouts out,

"GRYFFINDOR!"

He looks towards the Slytherin table a moment before he turns to his cheering house and runs to join Samuel and Bette. They're grinning at him, and he sits between them.

"Talbolt, Heather," is sorted into Hufflepuff. Hufflepuff wins.

"Trinity, Francisco!"

I walk towards the stool. It is wooden, three-legged, and rather ritchety-looking, and I hesitate before I sit down. The hat is on my head. And, suddenly, it talks.

_Hello. It's been a long while since I sorted someone as old as you,_ says the hat, into my head. _But your character has developed more, so perhaps this shall be easier. Coming to this school to play Quidditch? As a boy, even though you're a girl? Well, fighting for your rights says the house for itself._

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Darrin is cheering the loudest. I can hear him above the faint clapping of Gryffindor. I am not disappointed at the lack of cheers from my new house - after all, it is odd to be older than eleven at a sorting ceremony. They sound more confused than enthusiastic. As I walk to the table, Darrin pushes Bette to the side, catching her by surprise, and waves me over. Bette is scowling as I squeeze in next to her and Darrin, but Sam is smiling at me. A professor with a long beard (he introduces himself as Professor Dumbledore and suddenly everything clicks) gives an introductory speech, and then the tables are covered in food. Goblets are filled with pumpkin juice - which I hate, so I pour myself some lemonade - and every sort of dinner imaginable is in front of me. I help myself to some of the best lasagne I've ever tasted, and stuff myself.

"So," asks Darrin, "what year are you going into, exactly?"

"Seventh," I reply.

"You've got rotten luck, then," says Bette, snorting, "Potter and Black, and I can't forget Lupin and Pettigrew, are in your year. You'll be sharing a dormitory with them. Ha!"

"Did you hear," gossips a girl next to us, "Lily Evans is head girl - and James Potter is head boy! Honestly, he wasn't even a prefect!"

"We know," says Sam. "Yawn."

"I'm fifteen tomorrow," says Bette, starting a converstion. "The oldest in our year."

"Sixteen," says Sam, "sixth-year, and Chaser for the Gryffindor Quidditch team."

"Francisco plays Quidditch, don't you, 'Cisco?" pipes up Darrin.

"Beater," I say, then I quickly change the subject because I can tell they're surprised. "So how do you all know each other?"

"Well," says Sam, "I'm a Pureblood, but my family lives in a Muggle neighbourhood. Darrin, here, I've known him since he was born - it was the news on the street that Mr. and Mrs. Reeves had had a baby. Darrin's Muggleborn, you see, and he and Bette are connected through their Muggle parentage. Bette's a half-blood. Mr. Reeves and Bette's mum are twins, and Bette's dad is a wizard. So... when Darrin was born a three-year-old Bette came to visit, then we met, and we've all basically been friends for eleven years."

"That's a long time," I comment, trying to visualize how they became friends in my head.

"We're the Terrible Trio," says Darrin, in a sing-song-y voice. "Don't wear it out."


	4. I'd Rather Not

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.**

_**Chapter Three - I'd Rather Not**_

I cling to my new - er... friends? Acquaintances? Friends, I suppose. Well, anyways, I cling to them as we walk to the Gryffindor common room. It's just Sam, Bette, and I, because Darrin had to go off with the other first-years. The castle is beautiful, and I immediately find myself wanting to make a map of the place. My grandmother was a cartographer - and I can't help but think that if I were a Muggle, I would aspire to be one, too. We walk and walk and walk, until somewhere we come across a portrait of a very fat lady, and we stop.

"That's the fat lady," whispers Sam into my ear. "No one knows her real name, but don't call her fat to her face. She's easily offended."

"Password?" asks the portrait.

"_Canis major_," says Bette, and the portrait swings open. We walk in.

It is a warm, comfy room, with many couches, a bulletin board, a blazing fireplace. Everything is speckled with red, which should have made it dark, but it is actually very light. I feel like I am at home, miles away, with Mum and Dad, alive and well, watching the flames destroy the wood, and the paper, lolly wrappers, leaves, and anything else I can find that will burn. Now that I think of it, it might be a bit depressing to stare into a fireplace and watch things burn, but I was (and still am) entranced by it. I guess you could say that I am a pyromaniac.

"Girls dormitories on the right, boys on the left," says Sam, helpfully, as Bette waves goodbye and turns away.

I make to follow her, but then Sam says, "Not going after her, are you, Cisco?" with a smirk on his face.

"No," I say, remembering that I am actually a _boy_ now, so I'll have to go to the boys' dormitories instead. I blush. "Just looking around."

"Sure," says Sam, grinning.

We go up a flight of stairs, and then we come across a corridor. Down it, on alternating sides, there are seven doors.

"Well, this is me," says Sam, leaning against a door marked _Sixth-Years_. Suddenly, it opens, and he tumbles over, into the dorm. I decidedly _do not_ look into the room, and instead stare fixedly at Sam, in his befuddled state. I am just reaching over to help him up, when another boy comes to the door and starts laughing at him. He just so happens to be shirtless, and even though he is short and skinny, I still try to look at his face rather than his abs. This boy is jumping up and down, jittering all over as he laughs, like he's had too much caffeine or something.

"Who's this?" asks the boy.

"I'm Francisco Trinity. New here. Seventh year," I say, detached.

He lets out a bark of laughter.

"You're one lucky soul," he grins. "_Not._" And then he bursts into another fit of laughter.

"Ryker, here, is right," says Sam, laughing at my horrified face. "You're stuck with _them_."

And then Ryker and Sam start laughing together, and I truly am worried. Who could be so bad that they laugh at my misfortune?

"Across the hall, to your right."

And then I am abandoned. I hadn't really thought of this. Do I act cool, or do I act weak, or do I just be who I normally am? Really, first impressions matter, and my whole social life as a boy could be determined by whether I knock or not, whether I hold myself aloof, or trip as I walk in. Whether I say 'Hello,' or 'What's up doc?' or confuse them by talking in Gallifreyan. I stand there for a moment, panicking, and then I calm myself. How stupid is that? I don't have to pretend - just be a slightly more male version of my usual self.

In the end, I don't knock.

I walk in with my shoulders back and an easy grin, to find myself ambushing a group of five boys, milling about. Two are playing exploding snap, one is watching the exploding snap, one is reading, and the last is doing laps around the dorm. The beds are neat and four-postered, with everyone's trunks at the end. It is fairly obvious which bed will be mine – the only one without a trunk and a feather-light bag placed on it. My bed happens to be facing a window, which I am perfectly happy with.

"Er," I say, plopping down onto the bed. Intelligent conversations always. "I'm new here."

"No kidding," says the boy doing laps, who stops suddenly and grins. "I'm Sirius Black, Blood-traitor, Beater, and tick-er-off-er extraordinaire. Who's next?"

Sirius Black is a handsome boy (can you really call someone who's legally an adult a boy?) with black hair, grey eyes made silver by a mischeivous twinkle, and a look about him which tells me he's easy-going naturally, now, but made so over time. Obviously the other dudes in this room have made a huge impact on his personality.

"James Potter," says the boy watching the exploding snap. "Honestly, Sirius, the whole 'title' thing you have going on at the moment is lame. Mine'd go from here to the moon."

James has messy black hair that makes me smile in amusement, hazel eyes with a similar twinkle, and although a teency bit shorter and slighter, just as much eye-candy as Sirius. He is wearing glasses – you'd think he'd get his eyesight fixed with magic, but no – and, judging from the badge on his robes, he is the head boy. My heart skips a beat. _Quidditch captain._ I think back to Sam and Ryker, and curse their rightness.

"Peter Pettigrew, thank you very much, good evening, I am about to win this game – _again_, mind you – so be quiet, please. Hah, beat that, Remus!"

Short. Pudgy, with the beginnings of fat. I deem him nice enough, insistent on winning this game of exploding snap. He has watery eyes and hair that lies flat on his head, therefore is not exactly a winning sight, but he seems okay despite the unfortunate appearance.

The boy across from him, who is staring determinedly but is obviously losing the game, has sandy hair, and that is as far as I get before I am lost by the four parallel scars that are running down the side of his face. The scars have not been inflicted by magic, and whatever happened to him happened a long time ago, judging by the weathered and slightly faded look of them. I have no idea what had caused them, but one thing is for certain – a kitten certainly hadn't done this.

"I lost," groaned James, explaining. "To Remus, and he _sucks_."

"Yeah, well, hello what-ever-your-name-is, I'm Remus Lupin, and I certainly _do not suck_!" says Scarface Claw.

"You do realise James just insulted himself, don't you?"

I snap my head towards the boy lying on his bed, reading a book - _The Odyssey_ - and notice he's rolling his eyes. He, too, is obviously somewhat muscular, so I try to avert my eyes, but apart from that he has long red hair that he's tied up in a ponytail, and, surprisingly, grey eyes that seem critical and frustrated. I decide that this boy is right, but I hold back a snort, because I don't think that agreeing with him would go down well with the_ Quidditch captain. _I also vaguely wonder why by Merlin's beard is he reading _The Odyssey_? _Muggle_ myths and legends? Nothing against Muggles, but it is odd to see something from the other side, as I call it, of the fence.

"Shilo Rocket," says the boy. "But most people call me Fizz. Now, would you _please_ introduce yourself?"

"Si- Francisco Trinity," I say, then, looking at Sirius pointedly, as he is the one for titles, "Beater, half-blood, and former Capulet."

"Si?"

"I'm Spanish," I cover up, trying to sound like this is coming easy to me. "On my mum's side. English is my second language."

"Beater, eh?" asks James, looking me up and down. "Will you be trying for the team?"

"Merlin's beard, yes."

Even though I'd rather not stick around all these weird people, I suppose I have to. Well, at least until I can go to the bathroom to redo the charm for the night. I guess the only thing is that I can only sleep for nine hours - from nine until quarter to six. I'll just have to hope that I'll be convincing enough to prove to them that I am a girl at least until the first game of Quidditch. And, suddenly, I know how to ease the awkwardness.

"So, who plays Quidditch?" I ask.

"Well, I'm captain, and I play Seeker," says James. "Sirius is Beater, but his partner, Gavin Kellsworth, was a seventh-year last year, so you're in luck, Trinity. Then there's Ryker as Keeper. We then have Fizz here, and Samuel Chrysl as Chasers, but we need just one more person."

"I remember Samuel Chrysl," says Peter, having just won his apparently easy game of exploding snap against Remus. "I saw his name written down once, and I, silly me, said it Samuel _Cry-sel_. He hexed me, and insisted it was _Cree-sel_. I didn't smell the same for weeks."

"Oh, I remember that," pipes up Fizz. "I cast spells so Peter Pettigrews couldn't come into the dorm. You smelt awful."

"Hey! That was you? I always thought it was Padfoot!"

"I _told_ you so, Wormtail. Honestly - so quick to judge."

After following the conversation closely, and often putting in my two sickles' worth, I gathered many things. From my observations, Fizz is the odd one out of their little group. Remus, Peter, Sirius and James call each other the following nicknames: Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs. Fizz, however, does not call them these names. Another thing is that all of these boys, Fizz included, do not like Sam Chrysl, Bette Reeves, or Ryker. I can't imagine why - they were perfectly nice from what I saw of them. I think of Ryker, Bette and Sam, and then, finally, Darrin, and I realise that on my first day at Hogwarts I've become best friends with an eleven-year-old.

When I brush my teeth and have a shower, the spell fades, and I am a girl once more. It feels nice to have long hair, but once I am dry, I resign to the fact that there is no way I can stay hidden forever, so I change myself back.

In bed, I decide that I will hang out with Darrin, Bette, Sam, Ryker, and all their crowd, because I don't think I will fit in where I'm surrounded only by boys. Perhaps if there is a boy-girl circle I will blend in easier, sine I sort of am both. After six years - going on seven - of these boys knowing each other, there is no way I will ever slide into place easily with them. I'm a girl, for Merlin's sake, there'd be no way I'd fit in easily with them even if I had known them all my life. I think about the Last Compartment, the story Sam had been telling on the train, and I wonder why I'd been spared.

Maybe it's because it was a freak accident the time it happened?

Or maybe because that compartment wants equality, and who better to sit in it than the girl who's pretending to be a boy so that she can _have_ equality?

I fall asleep to the cheering of my name from an imaginary crowd, and the low hum beneath it, shouting _Quidditch, Quidditch, Quidditch._


	5. In the Kitchens

**Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I wouldn't suck at writing, would I?  
**

_**Chapter Four - In the Kitchens**_

I am a nice person. I have never done anything to these people, these _boys._ I am perfectly innocent.

So why, then, am I waking to be covered in a sticky green ooze? It's like a case, all around, and I'm finding it slightly hard to breathe, which would be why I'm awake. I can hear laughter through the ick, which only determines my theory that Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs have had something to do with it. Fizz is snoring loudly (he has a rather distinctive snore, unfortunately), but I can't hear the heavy breathing which would indicate another sleeping person. I scowl as I realise that I'm still a boy, still Cisco, therefore it must be something like four in the morning. I decide that that's not fair, and declare no one but Fizz in this dorm reasonable at all.

My wand is on me; thank goodness. I non-verbally _scourgify_ the ooze off me, and when that fails, I try for something more serious. For example, turning this casing into a butterfly. It flies away, a bright blue, and although the sight makes me want to smile, I am too busy gasping for air. I turn to my dorm mates. Peter is rolling around on the floor, James is lying on his bed gasping for air just as I am doing, Remus is sitting on his bed, grinning, and Sirius... well, Sirius is the one who is holding the wand. Doubled over laughing, clasping it victoriously.

I calm myself. I am a nice person. I don't want to do anything - not related to Quidditch - that will draw attention to myself. Instead of swearing, even though the words are at the tip of my tongue, I say, in a calm and totally hate-free voice,

"I couldn't breathe, you know."

I grab my bag and head to the bathroom, where I counter the spell to have a shower and stuff, then reapply it just before I get dressed. Once I am fully clothed, robes, cloak, and all, I head back into the dorm, avoid the boys, who are grinning at me (Fizz is still snoring), and go out into the common room.

"Well, someone's up early," says a smirking Sam, who's sitting next to Bette and Darrin on one of the many comfortable couches that are littering the common room, huddling over a piece of parchment.

"Six isn't early," I say, pointedly, "but I suppose you're right. I was woken at four."

"And 'woken' is the key word in that sentence, isn't it?" asks Bette, laughing. "I knew it. What did they do?"

"Encased me in slime, the gits. I couldn't breathe. I had to non-verbally transfigure the goop into a butterfly. It was quite pretty, really, but obviously it's poisonous. And guess what?" I don't give them a chance to guess. "Fizz, that Shilo Rocket, is still snoring away!"

"My night was _way_ better than yours," brags Darrin. "I met all these cool people and they were really friendly and stuff, and now I don't feel so bad about not getting into Slytherin. I really did want to, though."

Darrin, dejected suddenly, needs cheering up, so I say, "Well, at least you'll have the best Quidditch team in the history of the universe."

I notice Sam and Bette share a look out of the corner of my eye.

"I'm hungry," says Sam, suddenly. "Let's go to breakfast, at the kitchens, before anyone else, and come back here while everyone's at breakfast."

"If you say so, Hungry," I say automatically.

Darrin grins at me, and suddenly I don't feel so left out.

We head towards breakfast. Even though I have no idea how to get to the kitchens, I am lured by the smell of food and that is that. We go along many passageways, corridors, and classrooms before we reach our destination, but while we are following our tummies I also notice Bette slip the parchment they'd all been poring over before I walked in, between the folds of her robes, and hide it. Hide it from _me_? I know I'm basically a stranger to them, and they've known each other nearly their whole lives, so that's understandable, but it makes me wonder what it is that's worth hiding. We stop near a portrait of a bowl of fruit, and Sam steps forward and tickles the pear, which giggles. The portrait swings open and we step inside (and it suddenly hits me that the kitchens are behind the only portrait of food in the whole castle).

It's amazing.

The house elves are bustling around, preparing anything you could possibly want for breakfast. There have to be at least a hundred of them here. That alone, the sight of so much bustle, makes me gasp. Once I can look past the house elves and the glorious amounts of food (really, how can four hundred or so kids eat that much?) I notice the architecture of the place, and it truly is amazing. The ceiling is high and windows are everywhere, plus there are shelves and cupboards that hold all the ingredients. There are storeys and storeys, all house-elf sized, going up to the roof.

"I'm pretty sure we're the only students who know about this place," says Sam. "But the Hufflepuff common room is rumoured to be quite close to here, so maybe not."

I blink.

"What he's trying to say, Cisco," says Bette, "is that you should fall to your knees, kiss our toes and worship us for showing you this place."

"Ew," says Darrin, crinkling up his nose. "Seriously, don't do that, Cisco. Once Sam dared me to lick her foot and my taste buds were ruined for ages. Even the chocolate brownies Auntie Edna makes, and they taste like heaven! Not to mention, my nostrils died, too. The smell was unbearable!"

I laugh as Bette goes faintly pink and mutters, "That's exaggerating..."

Suddenly a noise, something so out of place in this cheerful room of house elves, rings through the air, and the house elf that was chatting happily with Sam, pledging to bring him the best pancakes he'd ever tasted, suddenly breaks off his typical house-elf chatter and scowls.

"_Dotty!_" the house elf explodes, in a scolding voice that makes me think of my mother, off exploring the world without me... "Loopy _told_ you, _no more!_ Especially when we have Master Sam and his friends are here!"

Dotty is a house elf. Small, dressed in rags (although much neater than what you would find in your typical Pureblood home), and crying. Crying. A house elf. Normally house elves aren't allowed or even able to feel self pity, so either this one is as dotty as her name suggests, or something is making her feel bad for someone else. It bothers me, makes me want to get down and tell her that everything's going to be okay, but obviously Loopy has different ideas.

"_Go away_, Dotty! This is _not_ acceptable!"

Dotty looks at Loopy and bursts into another bout of tears, but suddenly, with her house elf magic, snuffs out and disappears. Our pancakes arrive, and I eat them not quite as easily as Sam or Bette, who appear to have no problem with the treatment of Dotty at all. Darrin, however, instead of eating them antagonisingly slow as I am, is not touching his food at all.

"Don't worry," says Bette kindly. "Dotty's had this problem since her twin died. House elves hardly ever have twins, so what Dotty and her brother had was special. Loopy was quite tolerant at first, letting Dotty slack off and everything, but it's been two years now and Loopy's been pushed over the edge. Now Dotty just takes the bags and cleans."

"But, still," says Darrin, looking at all the house elves, and it strikes me that he's actually Muggleborn. Even though it makes me feel out of place, being used to the way magical people treat their house elves, I am not objecting as plainly as Darrin is. "Loopy didn't have to treat her like that."

"It's not the best, but it's part of who they are," I say softly, breaking my silence that has been part of me since we left the common room. "House elves are... odd. Now," I say, changing my tone of voice to something much lighter and not sad at all, "what is that piece of paper you've been trying to keep a secret from me? I know you've hidden it in your robes, Bette, but unless you want me to steal it I'd like to know what it is."

Darrin's eyes go wide.

"Whoa, Bette-Bell, Cisco's catching on fast."

"Shut it," says Bette, her eyes darting around wildly. "All right, I'll tell you, as long as you swear to secrecy. Cross your heart, hope to die, stick a needle in your eye, by Merlin's beard or Grandma's grave, anything, everything, so long as you _do not tell anyone_."

I mime zipping up my lips then throwing away the key.

"I stole it," says Darrin, sounding more excited than guilty, "from that group of boys, you know? Remus, Peter, Sirius and James. During dinner I picked Sirius' pocket, and afterwards I could hear them talking about it. They sounded worried. It seems like it's just a piece of paper, but I'm sure there must be something that it's hiding."

My eyes widen. I completely ignore the fact that Darrin must be an expert pickpocket. A piece of paper that they are worried about anyone else getting. Hiding something? A grin flickers across my face. If there is one thing that comes anywhere _near_ to how amazing Quidditch is on my List Of Awesome Things To Be Done As Often As Possible, it is solving mysteries. I love mysteries. And I get the feeling that Bette, Darrin, and Sam do, too. I figure that they will know more about the four boys who encased me in goop earlier this morning, but I relay the facts that I know about Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. Firstly, those nicknames. What could they be named after. Prongs could be a stag. Patronuses? The second, that they find it funny that people can't breathe when they're trapped in some case.

So only one useful thing, then.

"What do you know about them?" I ask. "The nicknames, I mean, could give us a clue - certainly those are worth looking into - but I'm not quite so sure. It's probably password activated, because somehow I think that they'd like the idea of the danger of getting it handed over to someone. Maybe they want it to be useful, or harmful, or whatever. But password activation seems like the way to go."

Sam looks at me, surprised.

"You're the most confusing person I've ever met."

"Except for Dedalus Diggle," says Bette, giggling. "He never had much sense."

"Well, what sort of lame-o password would they use?" I ask, grinning. "Don't worry, I solemnly swear - I'm not up to no good. Because now I'm hooked."

I wash the pancakes down with some pineapple juice (because pumpkin juice doesn't appeal to me at all) and then the house elves take away our plates. I notice Darrin has stopped smiling again, looking in the spot Dotty had disappeared. It is sad how there are so many beautiful things in the world, but there are also the ugly sides to things, too, which make us stop and reevaluate how beautiful the thing really is. Darrin's fists are clenched around the piece of paper, so I scoot over closer to him.

"As well as this thing with Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs," says Darrin, "can we help Dotty, too?"

"Yes," I say, following his reasoning one hundred per cent. "Of course."

And just as we are all about to hurry off to class, words appear on the piece of paper in Darrin's hands.

_Mr Moony cordially greets Darrin Reeves, and wishes that he would keep his pesky fingers out of other people's pockets..._


End file.
